More Blessed To
Give
by Bonner
Litchfield
The nuns filed
into chapel for afternoon prayers. Sister Abigail
hurried in the opposite direction. She emptied
her pockets at the foot of a giant oak tree, not
lingering to watch the Saint Bernard devour his
snack.
The
clandestine feedings continued into winter. The
oak tree turned black from rain. Brown grass
carpeted the frozen ground. In front of the
convent, the Saint Bernard lay dead.
Mother
Superior tasked Abigail with the dog's burial.
Armed with
pick and shovel, the spirited sister stationed
herself behind the convent. She drove the pick
into the hard ground with all her might. It
barely made a dent. She planted the shovel in the
unforgiving earth and hopped on it with both feet.
No use.
Abigail
dropped the shovel and hurried indoors. Ten
minutes later, she returned, lugging a huge
valise. How did she manage to wrestle that large,
stiffening corpse into the valise? Divine
intervention, perhaps. But get him in, she did.
Her plan was
simple: take a bus across town to the city dump,
and there, dispose of the valise and its occupant.
Providentially, there was a bus stop in front of
the convent.
Transporting
her cargo proved to be a Herculean task. But the
good sister persevered. Like an ant moving a
disproportionate object, she pushed and pulled,
resting between efforts, until she neared the
sidewalk.
"Can I
help you with that sister?" someone asked. A
strapping youth stood over her. A big lad, well
over six feet tall. He wore a black leather
jacket and matching pants with interwoven chains.
His hair was dyed red.
Habit soiled,
spectacles askew, Abigail attempted to stand, but
the aching muscles in her lower back refused to
cooperate. The youth helped the exhausted nun to
her feet and hefted the valise onto his broad
shoulder. "Where are you going with that?"
he grunted with a smile.
"Only as
far as the bus stop," Abigail said. "I'm
grateful you came along, or I'd never have made
it."
"Glad to
help," the youth assured her.
Abigail took a
liking to the boy and considered asking him if
the ring in his eyelid hurt, but feared the
question might offend him. When the bus arrived,
he guided her to the open doors, gently, as if
she were a priceless antique.
"You pay
the driver and get situated, sister," he
said. "I'll be right behind you with this
heavy bag."
Warmed by the
boy's kindness, Abigail got on the bus and
fumbled through her handbag for correct change.
"Hey
sister, your bag!" the bus driver shouted.
The youth was
sprinting away with Abigail's valise on his
shoulder.
The bus driver
sprang from his seat, ready to give chase.
But the nun
blocked his path and said: "If that young
man needs whatever is in my valise, he may have
it with my blessing."
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